Until You're Resting Here With Me
by XxWilson'sGirlxX
Summary: A story of Logan and Marie's struggle when they finally find what they have been searching for together for so long, only to have it all snatched from them in the worst possible way when they have to give up their three year old daughter Addy. Rated T generally, warnings for swearing, some violence, and general Rogan angst/cuteness.
1. Please, Please Keep Her Safe (Prologue)

-[X]-

'_Oh, I am what I am, I'll do what I want,_

_But I can't hide…_

_And I won't go, I won't sleep, I can't breathe… _

_Until you're resting here with me._

_And I won't leave, I can't hide, I cannot be…_

_Until you're resting here with me._

{Dido: Here With Me}

-[X]-

* * *

><p>'Oh, just.. just go fuck yourself.'<p>

I'd half-heartedly prayed for that articulately muttered line to come out with at least some level of intimidation weaving through every growled word. Some volume wouldn't have gone amiss, either.

As it was, my voice came out as it had been doing for days now. So tired that I could barely move, it was little more than a weak croak, that one tiny exertion setting off the hacking cough that had plagued me for the last two days; a breath-stealing, eye-watering cough that tore through my aching chest, clawing at my raw throat.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry with the inevitable copper tang that bitterly coated my tongue, trickling irritatingly slowly from the corner of my mouth, seeping through the rain-washed grime that coated my chin as much as the rest of my face and body.

How could these men, these low life, scum of the earth thugs, look down on me now and see anything remotely attractive about the sodden, filthy wreck of a girl at their feet, hacking up God knows what at every opportunity and washed only by the rain as it lashed coldly downwards?

This same rain that pounded down, every drop like a shard of glass to my bared arms, had once provided the backdrop for a moment of total freedom as I'd danced in it with my mom.

My dad had thought we were mad.

I smiled to myself, drifting in and out of this shitty life, almost giggling with the knowledge that I was piss wet through, the heavy cold of the stormy night seeping into the very core of me, my numb body as drenched as it was dehydrated.

I found the irony hysterical.

Couple that with the fact that I could barely move from this unwillingly chosen spot on the frozen, shit-covered concrete of this godforsaken alleyway and I arrived at the likely conclusion, my heart pounding painfully as the ever present fear swallowed me yet again, tears pricking suddenly at the corners of my eyes, my laughter dying on my cracked lips.

I was fucked.

Competely and utterly… _fucked._

And crapping myself.

I shouldn't have stopped here. Mom and dad would have killed me for ever stopping in a place like this. I should have carried on looking, searching for a more public place to take shelter for the night – a shop doorway, a bus stop… anywhere but here. Some dank back alley, strewn with litter… rotting food, used condoms, crushed beer cans, takeaway cartons, pizza boxes and probably a whole lot worse.

I'd ended up stumbling down here a few hours previously to collapse right in the middle of it all, exhausted beyond what I'd ever thought possible, knowing damn well that, mercifully, I probably wouldn't make it through the night.

I couldn't summon the strength to care where I'd ended up. Not anymore. Not after everything that had happened. I'd been homeless for about six weeks now and tonight, finally, thankfully, my body was giving up.

Because I couldn't do this anymore.

I just couldn't.

'Dirty little slut, you need to watch your mouth!' spat the leering stranger that loomed above me, faintly silhouetted with the others against the stormy night sky by the amber glare of the streetlight on the main road, his weedy voice jolting me back before I could take the opportunity to pass out.

'You ain't got no chance, sweetheart. Not like you got anywhere else to go, is it?'

I couldn't answer, willing the burn behind my eyes to disappear as I gave in to tiredly let them drift shut.

He was right.

Horrifyingly, inescapably… _right_.

'_Is it?'_

I couldn't help but cry out with the swift kick he delivered to my stomach then, the breath knocked out of me as I recoiled away from him, instinctively, pointlessly, backing myself further into the wall until I felt it behind me, rough brick scraping my back through my thin, saturated t-shirt.

I was crying.

'Leave me _alone!_'

I couldn't stop shaking, my tears hot against my cheeks as I felt them slip away, lost in the icy sheets of rain that hammered down upon us.

Up until six weeks ago, my life had been pretty average. Seventeen, and working hard to achieve the best grades in college I could, I was happy. I loved sport, gymnastics coming surprisingly naturally to me considering I really wasn't that elegant in life otherwise. Tall and lean, with long, dark brown, curly hair and hazel eyes, I was nothing special. I was that idiot who dropped things, the moron who tripped over her own feet, but throw me on the ropes or the bar and it all just came together with an unrivalled, fierce body strength that continued to surprise myself and others.

And yet it was either Policing or Nursing that I was ultimately drawn towards, the prospect of being able to work as part of a team in standing up and fighting for the wellbeing of relative strangers through the most vulnerable times of their lives both completely daunting and compelling all at the same time. I'd always been that outspoken, nice girl you find in every year group at school, the one who keeps quiet until she's pushed to far and risks getting her head kicked in for eventually biting back on behalf of others. To be able to do that kind of thing for a living, advocating the needs of people when they couldn't, I, perhaps naively, could think of nothing better. Gymnastics was only fun where I could do what I wanted, where I could break away and do my own thing just for the hell of it, and that right there was my downfall and the reason I couldn't see myself pursuing a career out of a seemingly God-given ability.

My gymnastics teacher was gutted, to say the least.

My parents, thankfully, were supportive in whatever I wanted to do and meant the world to me. Frank and Rose Jones. They couldn't have kids naturally and had privately adopted me at the age of three, never hiding the fact that they weren't my birth parents but raising me so that I knew, in no uncertain terms, that I was their daughter in every way that mattered. We didn't have a lot of money, and yet I wanted for nothing, happy with my parents and brought up with the ultimate value that family was everything.

Consequently, they'd spoken of my birth parents often as I grew up, answering my inevitable questions as best as they could and never disputing the fact that the couple who'd brought me into this world had loved me dearly, despite the fact that they couldn't keep me. They didn't really know why, either. As they'd remembered it, mom and dad had travelled a few hundred miles fourteen years ago in their old truck to an arranged location to pick me up, meeting with a kind man in a wheelchair and a pretty woman with bright white hair who was cuddling a sleeping me tightly in her arms, neither of whom were my birth parents, but two trusted individuals who were obviously held high in my birth parents' esteem to entrust me to them for that day.

Adoption made legal by the extensive paperwork brought forth by the nameless man in the wheelchair, pre-signed by my birth parents and my name given only as 'Adeleine', my parents drove home that day with a new daughter whose life before them held no official record and who was legally theirs.

They had no evidence of my birth parents' identities. No letter for me to read when I was older.

For all intent and purposes, my birth mother and father, the couple who had brought me into this world and loved me endlessly, had never existed, their two scrawled signatures all I had to remember them by.

It was unconventional, they knew. My dad told me once that all four adults present that day knew damn well that this wasn't how it was usually done. They all knew that what was going on here wasn't ideal. But he'd said he'd never forget the innate sadness that permeated the gaze of that gentle man in the wheelchair, a steely, resolute sadness for a clearly inevitable situation that spoke volumes as to how cherished I was in the heart of the family who were giving me away.

Both men had silently agreed that day to do what was right for me, that vow to protect me no matter what exchanged between them in a heartbeat. I was being given away for reasons unknown, for reasons that couldn't be explained to or comprehended by my adoptive parents, and yet my dad instinctively was under no illusion that he and mom, as much as my birth parents, were sacrificing everything to rescue me from something that none of them could ever imagine the magnitude of.

My birth parents' worlds where surely shattered that day.

My adoptive parents' assumed right to be safe in their own home was effectively chucked out of the window, their security compromised as soon as they agreed to take me on and shelter me from a danger that would always lurk no matter where I was, anonymity my best chance to lead a normal life.

My mom had asked the white-haired woman why she and my dad had been chosen to adopt me out of the endless couples desperate for a child. She'd asked why my birth parents couldn't keep me, knowing even as the question left her mouth that she wouldn't get an answer. The woman, my mom said, had given me one last kiss on my forehead before handing me over, eyes glistening and saying as she did so that my birth parents asked only that my mom and dad keep me safe.

Please, please keep me safe.

She'd revealed nothing else.

My mom and dad had promised faithfully, blindly, that they would, asking no more questions before turning and walking away with me and a small hold all with my things in it, back into the old pickup truck, back onto the road and into a yearned for family life that both of them had chased for so long now.

They never did break that promise.

Not even when I'd walked into the kitchen door a couple of months later, bumping my head and leaving a huge lump there.

Not even when I'd fallen over in the school playground and scraped the skin off my knees.

Not even when I'd gone headfirst over the handlebars of my bike as my dad taught me to ride it.

Not even when I'd come home heartbroken, crying in my mom's arms because of some idiot boy, my dad threatening to shoot him with the gun he kept in his nightstand at the first opportunity.

Not even when I'd argued with them, screaming blue murder all over the house, my temper so short that I couldn't reign it in half the time without balling my hands into fists, knuckles white and tingling as they trembled, my skin seeming to prickle all over, the nearest wall looking so tempting as I'd fight the urge coursing hotly through me to punch a hole clean through it.

Not even when our house was broken into six weeks ago by a swarm of armed soldiers in the middle of the night.

Not even when my mom had screamed for me to run as I'd fled into their bedroom, shoving me towards the window as my dad had turned on the uniformed intruders, that infamous gun in hand, firing for all he was worth even as my mom was murdered right next to him, shot through her head seconds before a bullet took his life too.

I'd done as she'd told, our old porch roof below messily taking me halfway down before I'd half jumped, half fallen, crashing noisily into the bushes at the front and rolling out onto the lawn that I'd grown up playing out on. I'd scrambled up amidst a din of frenzied shouting and took off running as fast as I could into the night, barefoot and bloodied and leaving everything I knew behind me, sobbing with the unbelievable knowledge that my parents were dead and never coming back.

I was on my own.

I ran for so long, rushing through the back streets of the city to find shelter somewhere, terrified, crying, with no family living in this part of the country and the PJs I stood in all I had.

I'd ended up taking shelter under an old bridge that night. seventeen years old, almost an adult, and I'd never felt so like a child in all my life. I'd never known what it was to not have a loving home to come back to every night, to not have a family who loved and protected you no matter what, to not have food and water readily available and a warm bed to sleep in.

I learned pretty quickly over the next few weeks, my weight plummeting as the sudden neglect took hold and my food sources dwindled to scavenged scraps at best, water collected in an old can when it rained, clothes stolen from charity bags left outside people's front doors, sleep only claiming me when I'd cried myself dry.

I didn't dare make contact with anyone.

My parents had been killed, and I was under no illusion that it was because of me. I wasn't stupid, I'd paid enough attention over the years to connect the dots, to work out the answer to that ever present question that niggled at the back of most adopted children's mind, that had never been revealed to my mom and dad…_ why_ had I had been given away in the first place? Who was it that wanted me so badly that my birth parents thought I'd be safer without them?

Because parents could be strict when it came to their child's welfare, but mine took it to a whole new level. I didn't remember once ever going somewhere without telling them first. They had my back at every turn, only just striking that fine balance between letting me live my life and watching my every move, but through it all I knew, I just _knew_, that they feared something unknown and that they were keeping their fear from me.

Well, trying to, at least.

When they'd told me all they suspected as I got older, arming me with the knowledge so I would understand just why they were so protective, I realized fully just what they'd given up to have me in their lives.

Turns out they were spot on in their suspicions that they were harboring a wanted child.

My birth parents had sacrificed everything and given me away to keep me safe. My adoptive parents had just paid the ultimate price for that, ruthlessly slayed by men in dark uniforms who were prepared to kill to get what they wanted.

Well, they could think again, because I wasn't about to let the two people I loved most in this world die for nothing.

And I wouldn't let my birth parents' plan, the plan that had kept me alive for the last seventeen years, that had kept me out of the wrong hands, unravel now.

I would keep running until I couldn't no more, and if that was to end tonight, at the hands of these sleazes, then so be it. At least the guilt, that overwhelming knowledge that I had caused so much damage to so many people already in my life, would end.

A selfish thought, maybe, but I was past caring.

Every waking minute, of every harsh day and cruel night, I wanted my mom and dad.

I still want my mom and dad.

'You, bitch, need to learn some _manners._'

I couldn't help the sob that dislodged from my throat then as this disgusting stranger hissed once more, driving me back to reality and ragging me up by my arm until I was on my hands and knees, my head snapping back suddenly as my face collided with his knee, the back of my head thudding sickeningly into the wall as blood pooled in my mouth and streamed from my nose, the overwhelming scent of tangy iron cloying the air I gasped for, the nausea swirling as I heaved.

I fell forward, shocked and dizzy, too stunned to register that I was being beaten from every angle, punches and kicks raining down on me as I flopped like a rag doll, giving up completely.

I didn't have the strength to protest when prying hands flipped me over, weakly registering the ripping of the front of my thin t-shirt, the yanking at the waistband of my stolen jeans, the molesting fingers hooking over the frayed elastic of my underwear to pull them down in one swift, hungered motion over jutting hips.

I heaved, baulking at a reality that just didn't seem real.

I had nothing left to hide. Nothing left to give.

So I guess this was it then.

Barely conscious, pain throbbing through every part of my spent body, I was too exhausted now to give a shit; the stinging, shamed tears pooling once more in my eyes anyway.

I was too weak to fight back, my vision blurring, a steady buzzing pounding through my skull growing louder and louder until, suddenly, groping hands snatched back from my exposed body.

I blearily tried to raise my head, trying to see them, trying and failing to curl up in an instinctive bid to protect myself, dithering in the cold that tore at newly exposed skin and bracing myself for the sordid act that was surely inevitable now…

_Please, just get it over with… _

_Just get it over with and leave me be._

The buzzing seeming to radiate through my shivering body, thrumming loudly through my head, tears now rolling down my cheek as I closed my eyes to resignedly let them run into the dirt of the grimy cobbles below.

The buzzing stopped.

And I realized it wasn't in my head at all.

The sound came again, louder this time and so ferocious that I fought to stay awake, a fresh wave of paralyzing fear crashing through me for this totally foreign noise.

A snarl.

I couldn't describe it as anything else.

A snarl so brutally fierce that it bounced off of every wall, the potency of the blatant possessiveness that danced through every inflection as soothing as it was petrifying.

Swiftly followed by a strangely familiar growl that rumbled so deeply, and so violently, that I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, the air charged with lethal promise.

And then all hell broke loose.

My attackers scattered, yelling in absolute terror as they fled, heavy feet thundering past me as I lay there, battling to stay conscious. The silver glint of six, unbelievable deadly claws seemed to come from nowhere, shining threateningly in the amber light of the distant streetlamp and springing forth from my savior's knuckles like unsheathed knives to rhythmically sink into any man within reach, the guttural roar that echoed through the shadowed alley with every merciless stabbing bringing tears of utter relief to my eyes as I felt myself slipping under, giving in to the welcome darkness that dragged my heavy eyes shut… giving in to just make it all go away… _please, just make it all go away…_

'Addy?'

It seemed like only seconds later, but I could hear him, a man, his voice thick with barely contained emotion, the dark alley now ominously silent save the rainfall and the heavy breathing of this earthy scented stranger as he crouched beside me, his strong arm holding me so close to him as he gently stroked my cheek.

I was slightly warmer, registering faintly that he'd wrapped me in his jacket somewhere along the way, my shredded dignity now held together by this single, caring thread.

It was an act of such simple decency, of such inherent humanity, that I realized I'd forgotten what it was to have someone look out for you in the six long weeks that had robbed me of anything remotely close to love.

I'd forgotten what it was to matter to someone, to not have to rely on yourself, to have someone care about you.

The relief was overwhelming.

'Addy, look at me!'

I realized I was crying. I was crying so hard, needing so much to fall into the darkness that threatened, the darkness he was denying me, to escape the sheer agony that had held me captive long before the events of this brutal night, needing desperately to cling to him and never let him go.

'Come on, darlin', stay awake. Stay with me, sweetheart.'

I could only just open my eyes, blinking through the rain to find my own hazel eyes staring straight back at me through the shadows; kind, intense, hazel eyes so acutely devastated that his tears mingled with the rain as it dripped from his plastered hair, drenching the anxious contours of his pale face, his skin starkly white against the contrast of his dark mutton chops.

And yet, even then, something else swam behind the horror that clouded his wide eyes, something that looked strangely like… pride? Relief?

I couldn't tell.

I couldn't do it.

As much as I longed to, I couldn't stay with him.

'_Adeleine!'_

My eyes snapped open again at the sharp sound of my full name ringing through my aching head, barely able to comprehend that he'd picked me up until I sensed my bare feet dangling into nothingness, the early winter air surely biting into skin that I couldn't feel anymore.

Someone was crying, and I couldn't work out if it was him or me.

'You just hold on for me, alright kid? Please… God, please darlin', just hold on.'

His choked voice rumbled demandingly in his warm chest, pleading with me to do the impossible.

He must've thought I was some miracle worker, rather than just plain, old Addy Jones.

My heart broke for him.

This man, or mutant, had just ruthlessly wounded, if not slaughtered, at least five men without a second thought, savagely slashing every one of them in one of the most ferocious displays of violence that I'd ever witnessed.

And yet, when he cradled me so tightly to his shirted chest as he carried me from the alley into the brighter light of the main street, wrapped tightly in the warm confines of his leather jacket against the torrent of rain, I trusted him with my life.

This feral stranger, whose voice was so comforting, whose scent was so intoxicatingly, inexplicably familiar, whose deadly claws protected me like nothing else could, whose powerful hold was so natural, the softness of his broad chest and arms so soothing as he enfolded me close, meant something to me.

In fact, with every surefooted step he took, my head lolling against the warmth at the crook of his neck as he carried me to safety, I was certain of one thing.

Even through the haze, through the pain and confusion, I was certain that this heaven-sent man was perhaps the most important man in my life.

I was certain that he was my father.


	2. It's Always Back To You

Thank you to all of you who are following this story and who have left a review! I have never written a Logan/Marie fic before so it means a lot :) This chapter goes back to the start, before Addy was even a thought, to start this story at the beginning. Thanks again everyone! xxx

'_In a way, need a change, from this burnout scene._

_Another time, another town, another everything…_

_But it's always back to you._

_Stumble out in the night, from the pouring rain…_

_Made the block, sat and thought, _

_There's more I need._

_It's always back to you.'_

{O.A.R: Shattered (Turn The Car Around)}

-[X]-

* * *

><p>TWENTY YEARS EARLIER<p>

* * *

><p>Logan woke with an irritated growl when his cell rang shrilly though the darkness of his bedroom for the second time that night, a sleepy glance at his too-bright alarm clock revealing the God-awful, digitalized hour.<p>

02:46am.

He'd gotten precisely one hour and twenty three minutes of restless dozing in since he was last drunk-dialed by a certain Southern Belle, her Mississippi lilt barely audible over that irritatingly catchy Mariah Carey Christmas hit that had blared on in the background of whatever sweaty club she'd ended up in with Kitty.

She'd barely managed to get a word in before Kitty had got a hold of her cell, shouting all sorts about her bestie not wanting a lot for Christmas, but there _is_ just one thing she needs…

And, actually, Marie didn't care about the presents, but did he _know_ who she wanted to find waiting for her under the Christmas tree, all wrapped up with a big, red bow on top of his ickle Wolvie head?

Well, _did_ he?

Logan had groaned.

Loudly.

This was precisely why he hated Christmas nights out. Because not only were people turned stupid by alcohol, but they were equally dumbed down by the merry crap that turned their brains into fizzing, festive mush.

Kitty was a smart girl. Marie even more so, her level of maturity way beyond her years.

Except smartness and maturity were probably not two traits you were going to find in a group of girls out to have a good time on their Christmas night out.

Needless to say, and proving Logan's point exactly, impressively sized adamantium claws were mentioned, in various compromising positions, before Marie had managed to retrieve her cell to attempt an intoxicated apology, the essence of which was lost in a fit of girlish giggling that would have had any man feeling like he was being hunted from afar.

Logan was quite sure he'd heard Kitty snort.

It had been enough to make the mighty Wolverine blush furiously before he'd muttered a hasty goodbye and hung up, switching the light off and settling back again to ponder the female species and their ability to mind fuck the hell out of every male in their vicinity.

Or contacts list, if the currently flashing display of his damn cell was anything to go by.

Logan decided that he was going to put his claws to their original use instead and kill Marie D'Ancanto outright at the next opportunity, a heavy fist slamming his bedside light on once again as he leaned over to snatch the offending article up.

Her number, as it blinked innocently up at him, had him both annoyed and strangely comforted at the same time.

That still didn't change the fact that Logan was sleep-deprived and feeling more than a little confused about the twenty-one year old bane of his life, his voice snappy when he dutifully answered.

'_What?'_

The drunken cackles and shouts emanating from the other end of the line had his heart sinking for whatever shit the plastered pair were going to throw at him next, his hazel eyes fixed tiredly on the bare wall as he prepared for the next onslaught of claw-related innuendos.

His cell was going on silent after this. He didn't care.

And yet, even as Logan thought that, he knew he wouldn't do it.

Just in case the kid needed him to take care of her. Five years after faithfully making that promise to her as she'd tried to flee on the train, his Marie now an independent, confident, young woman and fully fledged member of the X-Men team, she was far from being a kid.

She was far from needing to be taken care of.

And she was far from being 'his'.

He sighed, as appalled with himself for even considering his closest friend in such a light as he was hopelessly resigned. The Wolverine at the heart of him may see no problem whatsoever with his choice of helplessly desired mate, but the man who ruled his head knew damn well the consequences of him actively pursuing Marie when she was still far too young.

In so many other people's eyes, she would _always_ be far too young.

And too innocent, too inherently _good_, for the likes of him.

It was an internal battle of wills that had gone on for so long now that Logan couldn't really remember when he'd started to cross that line, his feelings for Marie steadily growing from an all-encompassing need to protect her, to keep her safe no matter what, to what he felt for her now.

He would do anything for her,_ be_ anything for her, always.

Put simply, he loved her. So damn much.

But, Christ… it was killing him.

Absolutely killing him.

'Marie, what do you want? Are you okay?'

'_Whoops! Haha, you fell on your ass, girl!'_

Logan grimaced at the garish sound of Kitty's shrieking voice, not entirely surprised that he was speaking to her instead of Marie given the last exchange on that cell.

Not that he could claim to be speaking to her. Unwillingly listening to her screeching at her friend, yes, but that was about it.

'Kitty?'

'Hey, Wolvie! Ahhhh, she _said_ you'd pick up!'

Logan rolled his eyes, wanting to slay himself right there with his own claws when he felt his cheeks coloring slightly for the second time that night.

He cleared his throat.

'Is Marie okay?'

'Well, she's on the floor.'

Logan took a deep breath, patience a virtue that he'd never had the good fortune of running in to, especially when dealing with drunken young women.

'I gathered. Can she get up?'

Her voice, as she bellowed at Marie, rang irritatingly through his head.

'_Rogue, he said get your sweet ass off the floor or he'll-'_

'Continue that sentence kid, and I'll be cutting your damn_ tongue_ out,' growled Logan quickly, panic flaring in his chest for what the drunken cupid on the other end of the phone had been about to adlib to Marie.

He didn't know if she'd heeded his warning or not, given that he could now hear Marie crying loudly as Kitty obviously tried to help her up.

He could practically smell the vodka-induced drama seeping annoyingly down the line.

Logan was already moving, resignedly throwing the covers back to find the shirt and jeans he'd tossed carelessly to the floor the evening before, his voice a tad anxious as he tried again despite attempting to remain calm.

'Kitty, what's happening? Where are you?'

Kitty was otherwise engaged in attempting to drag her friend back to her feet, if Marie's protesting, tearful voice bleating faintly in the background was anything to go by.

'_OW! No, don', don' Kit, ah feel sick…' _

Logan's heart sank as he hurriedly pulled on his jeans, knowing quite well that his classy Marie was probably moments away from chucking up in the gutter if Kitty continued to play tug of war with her arm, his voice more urgent than he would have liked as he barked abruptly down the phone.

'KITTY!'

'_WHAT?'_

Logan winced.

She'd heard him then.

'Look, just… just sit down with her and I'll come and pick you up. Where are you?'

Kitty faltered, sounding slightly out of breath as she took in their surroundings to slowly arrive at the conclusion Logan had been fully expecting all along.

'I don't know! We're not far from the bar!'

Helpful.

'Which bar, kid? There's, uh, quite a few to choose from, you know?'

'I don't _know!_' came the wailed response.

Logan couldn't find it in him to get angry at them, not when he could utilize the technology at his fingertips to just track Marie's phone and save the three of them a whole lot of grief.

A complete invasion of her privacy, yes, but what the hell – he wanted to get back to bed in the next ten years or so.

'Right, just stay there and I'll track Marie's phone. Don't move and don't go off with anyone, you hear me? You stick together.'

'Loud and clear, Wolvie. Loud and clear.'

'Seriously, kid, cut it out with the 'Wolvie' crap. And you watch yourself with Marie's skin, okay?' he warned as he shrugged his shirt on, knowing all but Marie's face was covered, but equally aware that intoxicated women had a tendency to become very touchy-feely, especially in the hugs department.

The repercussions could be devastating.

At the very least it'd put a dampener on their Christmas night out.

'I'm not stupid, Logan! And you suit 'Wolvie'. It's sweet. Well, Marie thinks so, anyway.'

Logan rolled his eyes, knowing he would get nowhere arguing with a drunken woman, yawning widely as he turned to locate his boots.

'_Wolvie'_… Christ, the school would have a field day with that one.

Yet another mildly irritating, reputation-squandering term of freakin' _endearment_ that he would just have to get on with resigning himself to.

'Alright, kid,' he sighed tiredly, knowing damn well he was going soft and feeling vaguely unsettled by the thought, 'I won't be long.'

He hung up, scrubbing at his eyes, realizing as he sat on the edge of his bed to shove his bare feet into his boots that perhaps Marie did still need him, after all.

Even if it was just to catch a lift.

Logan couldn't help but smile to himself at the thought, remembering fondly the sleepy, bold-faced runaway he'd discovered stowed in the back of his truck five short years ago, shivering in the cold.

He hadn't been able to leave Marie then, either.

It seemed that some things in life just never changed.


	3. And My Love For You Is Still Unknown

Hi everyone! Thank you again for your reviews, they spur me on with this :) For those of you asking about my fic 'Calls Me Home', it's one that I'm sure I will come back to, but at the moment I'm focused on Logan/Marie after re-bounding onto Hugh Jackman/Wolverine/X-Men/Rogan in the aftermath of the Hilson devastation in House MD :( I'm only just getting back into my fanfic writing after my work life went a bit topsy turvy for a good while and the storyline for 'Here With Me' was one that I just couldn't shake and had to write down here. Thank you again to those of you who have followed over to this fic, who are holding out for 'Calls Me Home' and who are new to this fic - your continued reading and reviews are great and mean so much :) Enjoy! xxx

-[X]-

_'You don't know how long I have wanted,_

_To touch your lips and hold you tight._

_Oh, you don't how long I have waited,_

_And I was gonna tell you tonight._

_But the secret is still my own..._

_And my love for you is still unknown… _

_Alone.'_

{Heart: Alone}

-[X]-

* * *

><p>The reason for Marie not being able to get up again had become abundantly clear to Logan as soon as he'd located the two sorrowful girls huddled obediently at the roadside, dithering in the wintry rain that had begun to fall, her right leg stretched out in front of her, foot devoid of its shoe and beginning to swell.<p>

Her long-sleeved, high-cut mini dress teamed with clear tights and matching gloves was about as useful an outfit as Kitty's mini-skirt and vest-top ensemble, doing precisely nothing to keep the cold at bay.

The skyscraper heel that had previously resided on said foot lay a meter or so away from them, obviously damned until it was needed for the next girly night out.

The sight was so pitiful it was almost funny.

Marie caught Logan smirking as he walked over the road to them, his face saying everything as he first eyed her, then her shoe and finally her injured foot.

She scowled, swaying slightly as she looked up to him, her alcohol-laced breath misting in the frosty air.

'Say nothin', W.._Wolf _face.'

Logan had to laugh at that new one, retrieving the discarded heel from its naughty corner himself seeing as it clearly wasn't welcome in its owner's life anymore.

'Wouldn't dream of it, kid. I ain't that stupid.'

Sure enough, he stayed true to his word, looping the strap of the heel over his wrist before stooping to easily haul a protesting Marie up, ensuring the ever-giggling Kitty was safely linked to his arm, and transferring the pair of them from the roadside to the warmth of Cyclops' waiting, unknowingly borrowed Mazda.

It hadn't taken long for Kitty to doze off in the back as Logan drove them home, her slow, even breathing in comparison to Marie's leading him to conclude that the kid hadn't fallen fast asleep yet as she leant her cheek against the cool window, even if her eyes were closed.

A few minutes later, and he was proven right, her voice barely more than a drowsy mumble.

'Ah shouldn've called yeh 'Wolf face'.'

Logan glanced uncertainly at her, eyebrow quirked.

She was funny when she was drunk… more abrupt, yet equally more principled somehow.

'You can call me whatever you like, darlin'. Can't say I'm a fan of 'Wolvie', but hey – whatever does it for you, kid.'

Marie chuckled softly to herself, tired eyes still closed as her southern drawl slurred quietly under the combined effects of the alcohol and the sleep that was inevitably going to succeed in claiming her.

'Yeh suit 'Wolvie'. Kinda reminds me of a.. a big bear hug, like the ones you give. All warm an'.. an' _cuddly_.'

His reputation wasn't just going to end up squandered, it was more than likely going to end up dead in the fucking water at this rate.

Warm?

_Cuddly?_

'Christ, Marie! Wolverine's ain't warm and cuddly – _I_ ain't warm and cuddly!'

'Ahhhh, yeh are when it matters, sugah… yeh are.'

'Fine,' huffed Logan, shaking his head at the ease of which he gave in to her, 'but in a manly way, darlin'. Remember that – in a _manly_ way.'

Marie chuckled sleepily.

'Can't deny yeh manliness Logan, but… 'Wolf face'? It makes yeh sound like an animal and nothin' more. An' yeh not an animal. An' yeh not named after a wolf. If anyone else called yeh that ah'd kill 'em.'

_Nice._

More abrupt, more principled _and_ more possessive…

_Cute._

Holy fuck.

He really _was_ going soft.

The urge to howl for the all time low he'd just internally reached in pansy vocabulary was overwhelming.

'Marie, if anyone but you called me that, _I'd_ kill them,' Logan muttered quickly, hoping to all that was holy that she couldn't see the pink that he was sure now tinged his ears, quite crestfallen for the fact that he, Logan, the freakin' _Wolverine_, was growing more and more flustered at the hands of a drunk twenty one year old.

Thank God it was dark.

'Yeah… yeah, yeh do tha', sugah,' breathed Marie sleepily, curling up in her seat to get comfy for the rest of her ride home, happy in the knowledge that she hadn't upset her best friend too much.

She didn't say anything for a minute or so then, her faint voice when she did suddenly pipe up startling Logan somewhat.

''Cause yeh _my_ Wolf face, y'know. _My_ Wolvie. No one else's.'

Logan's breath caught in his throat with that; the wanting, possessive rush that flooded his body in immediate response, warming him right to his fingertips, as welcome as it was dreaded.

'Damn straight,' he agreed softly after a moment, stealing a quick glance over at her before focusing on the road again, his voice a low muttering to himself when he spoke again.

'I'm your pansy-assed bitch too apparently, if tonight's anything to go by.'

'Hmm?'

Logan smirked, his eyes never leaving the road.

'Nothing kid, go to sleep. I'll wake you up when we're home.'

Thirty minutes later, the three of them mercifully vomit-free, and with a suitably tired Kitty dropped off safely at her bedroom, Logan stood aghast in the open doorway of Marie's room, heel dangling once more from his wrist, the woman herself now snoring softly from the safety of his arms.

For after managing, with some difficulty, the ridiculous task of flicking the light switch on with his nose without disturbing Marie, Logan had turned around to be met with the sight of what he could only describe as a shit hole.

An actual shit hole.

The double bed was barely visible, lost beneath a mountain of bags, clothes, clothes hangers, shoes, makeup, DVDs and a ton of the other useless, pretty bits of random crap that women deemed necessary to getting ready for a night out.

Wine glasses, an empty bottle, sweets and bits of nasty smelling makeup covered the dressing table, the hair straighteners, curling iron and dryer probably lost on the floor amidst the throw and multi-colored cushions that had been evicted from their rightful places on the bed.

The pungent smell of floral-scented perfume, mixed with hairspray, pheromones, chocolate, pheromones, cheap wine, goddamn _pheromones_ and the faint, unmistakable whiffs of Marie's herbal essences shampoo, hit Logan like a ton of bricks.

It didn't take a genius to work out that the girls had used this room to get ready in.

He didn't think twice, dropping her disowned shoe where he stood and deliberately shifting Marie this time to just slam the damn light off with his hand, before striding off down the hallway to his own bedroom next door but one.

Why he'd stupidly assumed her bed would be clear for her to drunkenly fall into, he'd never know.

'_Mmm…'_

Her sleepy sigh wafted feather light over him as she chose that moment to nuzzle gently into his chest.

Logan froze.

'You're all _snuggly…_'

_Sweet Jesus._

That'd be the injured drunk awake then.

'And you, Marie D'Ancanto, are a messy bitch,' replied Logan swiftly, forcibly recovering himself as he thankfully nudged his door open with his toe to go into the still dimly lit room, peel back the comforter and gently deposit Marie on his bed, where he pulled her remaining heel off before she could even register that she wasn't in her own room.

Her mischievous giggle as she twisted away from him into the familiar smelling pillows soon faltered with the pain that flashed through her swollen, and now faintly bruised, foot.

She looked vaguely confused for a moment, gingerly sitting herself up and experimentally moving her foot again, to be met once more with a pain that made her breath catch in her throat.

Logan simply stood at the end of the bed, watching with mild amusement her delayed reaction and waiting for the obvious solution to click into place in Marie's drink-addled brain.

When she moved her foot yet again, and emitted a whimpered 'ow', Logan decided it was easier to just say it himself and save Marie's pickled brain cells the trouble of interacting.

'Kid, just let me touch you so I can fix your damn foot.'

Marie looked horrified.

He may as well have asked her to take his own claws and stab him through the chest with them, such was the instant revulsion on her face.

'_No!'_

Logan sighed.

He knew she'd be like this, all… _moral._

'Why not? Five seconds, give or take, and you'll be sorted.'

Marie regarded Logan for a long, searching moment, her head swirling, knowing quite well that he meant every word he was saying.

He'd do anything for her, he really would, but to let him do that was something she just couldn't do. She could still remember the cold fear in his eyes when she'd unexpectedly drained him during their first night at the mansion, fear that she alone had caused to stop herself from bleeding out right there and then on his bed at his misguided hand.

She never wanted to be the person to make Logan look and feel like that ever again, even if it was only for five seconds.

He'd nearly given his life that night already for her.

And he'd come so horrifyingly close to doing just that atop the Statue of Liberty the second time around.

Never again.

She would never give him a third opportunity to chance his own life… not for her, of all people.

The thought was a sobering one.

She shook her head.

'No. Sorry, sugar.'

Logan growled, beyond frustrated. He hated seeing her in any kind of discomfort, let alone outright needless pain, and to see her now – like some sort of doe-eyed, freakin' _Bambi, _curled up on his bed, her scrap of a dark green dress leaving nothing to the imagination, wincing with every damn movement…

Well, he was feeling a bit useless, to say the least. Especially when he alone could just heal her in five stupid seconds that he really wouldn't miss.

He shook his head, turning to forcefully rag open a drawer and root through his clothes to find a shirt for her to use.

'Here, put that on,' offered Logan gruffly, chucking the old, red and blue, checkered shirt over to her as he made for the door.

Marie didn't miss the scowl on his face.

'Where you going?' she asked quickly, more to his retreating back than anything, his shirt bunching anxiously in her fists as her wide eyes followed her pissed best friend.

His muttered answer, as he left the room, was short, to the point and, dare she think it, _sweet_.

'Peas_, _darlin'. Goddamn _peas_._'_

Marie smiled to herself, looking down to the familiar shirt clutched tightly in her lap. She realized with a jolt of fondness that it was the one he'd been wearing when they'd first met in Laughlin City.

Old, faded and smelling, soothingly, of everything Logan.

Ten minutes later, frozen peas reluctantly in hand along with a glass of water and two painkillers, a forcibly calmer Logan knocked quietly on his own door.

'Kid, it's me. You decent?'

No answer.

'Marie?'

Still nothing. He couldn't hear any movement from the other side, either.

The possibilities for the state he was going to find her in were practically limitless given that he'd left a drunk, incapacitated woman with the relatively simple task of getting changed into his shirt.

Either way, Logan had to make the decision to risk being labeled a complete pervert if he went in to find her sprawled out naked on his bed as she snored, or a negligent friend if he left it and she'd actually gone ass over tit and was now sprawled out unconscious on his bedroom floor.

It crossed his mind, ten minutes too late, that he perhaps should have foreseen this predicament before he'd stormed off to the kitchen.

Christ, and to think he'd gone to bed that night assuming the usual nightmares would be his biggest problem.

He opened the door a crack.

'Kid?'

Silence, save the sound of her breathing. Well, at least she was still alive.

'_Kid?_'

Still nothing.

'Fuck it – Marie, I'm coming in.'

The sight he was met with when he cautiously poked his head around the door was, admittedly, as endearing as it was a relief.

Curled up in a little ball, dress still decidedly on, Marie had simply covered herself in his shirt and burrowed down in it to fall fast asleep.

Logan had to stifle the laugh that welled, smiling to himself as he shut the door quietly behind him to make his way over to the bed, the peas, water and pills placed gently on the night stand before he sat himself down next to her on the edge of the matrass.

Because, really, how could he stay angry at her refusal to let him help her when she looked so damn cute?

_Pansy-ass, Logan…_

He couldn't give a shit.

Because even with the smudged eye makeup, the faded lip gloss, the now curling, damp hair that fell around her clothed shoulders, that platinum lock falling in a delicate wave across her pale face… it couldn't be denied.

Marie was beautiful.

And if the infuriating, testosterone-scented stink of other, strange men polluting the air around her was anything to go by, rising high above the pungent aroma of alcohol, stale sweat, and faded perfume, Logan was pretty sure he wasn't the only male to realize that.

Her dress, her tights, her gloves… God, but above all her _hair_… the repulsive scent of heady, male desire clung nauseatingly to her.

And that was _with _his shirt covering her.

His sigh was both resigned and agitated, lifting his hand to gently brush the lock of pure white hair from Marie's closed eyes, his thumb skimming lightly over her warm cheek as he stole a rare moment to just watch her sleep, the tingling pull of her flawless, deadly skin sparking faintly into life when he let his hand hover for just a second too long.

He hated pulling his hand away, reluctantly doing so only because he knew she'd be upset if he was hurt in any way.

But, Jesus… she _was_ beautiful.

And jealousy was a cruel thing.

Particularly when it was hardwired into your mutation to gut like a fish any man who came close enough to mark what was yours in any way.

Except she wasn't his, was she?

Not like she should be.

And one day soon, as was the usual way of the world, it was pretty much a given that some acne-ridden, hormone-driven, useless, good for nothing _prick_ would claim Marie as his own and that, sadly, would be that.

Especially when she'd inevitably succeed in controlling her skin over the coming years.

Logan couldn't stop the frustrated snarl from rumbling lowly through him at that incensing thought, as possessive as it was mournful.

Because he was walking across thin ice, and he knew it.

Oh, how he knew it.

So it was with a heavy heart that he leaned down to press a brief, tender kiss to Marie's forehead before tucking her under his covers and going round to his own side of the bed, shirt and jeans left decidedly on as he crawled under the covers to switch the lamp off and finally settle down again, lips still tingling in the wake of a kiss that had been a fleeting graze at best against her deadly skin.

Logan purposely turned away from Marie, doing anything to quell the reflexive, longing need to pull her flush to him and wrap her in his arms for the remainder of the night, utterly ashamed of himself for having fallen so hard for the young, innocent girl he'd originally pledged to care for.

Because what did that make him? Sixteen years old Marie had been when they'd met. _Sixteen. _She'd trusted him so implicitly, so instantly, that he'd willingly accepted her as his responsibility within hours of meeting her. Why? What had he viewed her as back then? A sister? A daughter? A friend?

He didn't know.

She didn't fit into any category.

She was just… a kid.

_The_ kid.

The kid he'd promised to take care of, that one sixteen year old girl meaning more to him than anything at that point, his world revolving around the rushing, instinctive, all-consuming need to protect her.

And over the following days, weeks, months, years he _had_.

To the point of fiercely loving her, of risking his life for her.

To the point of falling so unbearably hard _in_ love with her.

His Marie… his _mate_.

And yet to others, undoubtedly, he would always be viewed as_ that_ figure in her life… the father figure, the brother figure, the mentor, the friend…

Never the man who loved her more than life itself, whose primal desire was rooted so deeply within his feral nature that he was helpless to stop it, powerless to the force that would keep him at Marie's side, protecting her forever more, staking his claim on what he instinctively considered _his_.

Christ.

Intense didn't even cover it.

'Fucked up' however…

Now that, he thought bitterly, was a phrase he was all too familiar with.

_04:49am._

That was the time that glared harshly at him through the darkness, Logan's tired, sensitive gaze fixed painfully on the brightly lit numbers as he lay there, Marie's unexpected presence in his bed setting him totally on edge as her intoxicating scent inevitably permeated the air he breathed, her heartbeat steadily beating a little too fast thanks to the alcohol that coursed through her body, a beat that, for so long now, had irrevocably taken over his life, drumming away to provide the backing track for the ever present war that wagered between his head and his heart, between the man and the inescapable beast within.

He was so exhausted.

And he was quite certain it had nothing to do with lack of sleep.


	4. I've Loved You All Along

Hi everyone! Just to say a huge thank you again to those of you who have to taken the time to read and/or review this, it really does mean a lot :) Now onwards with the beginning of the Rogan fluff and angst, enjoy! xxx

'_On my knees, I'll ask, last chance for one last dance._

'_Cause with you, I'd withstand, all of hell to hold your hand._

_I'd give it all, I'd give for us… give anything, but I won't give up._

'_Cause you know, you know, you know…'_

{Nickelback: Far Away}

-[X]-

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><p>Charles Xavier, as he patiently watched the young woman before him, could sense that she was so close to seizing control of the mutation that had so far governed her short life, her concentration painfully intense as she willed her skin to neutralize for more than thirty seconds.<p>

Marie D'Ancanto, unfortunately, was at her wit's end, her dark eyes snapping open again as she exhaustedly gave in to feel her skin fizz statically back into life.

Because she didn't need this.

She really didn't.

Not after coming to blows with that frustrating, idiotic, self-sacrificing, temperamental _jerk_ of a feral mutant that she couldn't stop her world from helplessly revolving around, the argument that had occurred this morning playing out less than an hour after she'd reluctantly rolled out of that same feral mutant's bed, hung over and mortified enough to wish for a swift exit from this world.

Logan, thankfully, hadn't been there when she'd woken up late. The little note left with a pint of water and pills on the night stand had said that yes, she'd spent the night in his bed, and no, nothing embarrassing had been said or done. She'd find him waiting in the rec room as usual when she was ready.

Oh, and P.S.- watch the ankle. She was to shout if she needed him.

That was where the clueless fool's courtesy had ended, unfortunately.

For Marie had eventually followed Logan down to the rec room after showering and changing, the pair of them ending up curled up together on the sofa as usual watching shitty Saturday morning TV with their breakfast. With his arm draped around her covered shoulders as he'd mindlessly twirled a lock of her damp hair in his fingers, her banging head resting soothingly against his chest and her sore foot resting comfortably on the arm of the sofa, Marie had assumed that Logan was as effortlessly absorbed by the mindless crap on the TV as she was.

She'd been so relaxed that she'd almost dozed off right there against him.

That was until Logan, in all seriousness, had offered out of the blue to be the guinea pig that Marie could practice on, as much as she liked, in an attempt to learn to control her skin for longer than thirty seconds.

Because, really, if you thought about it, it didn't matter if she hurt him because he'd just heal again.

So why not give it a shot?

He could have been offering her a drink, casual as his tone was.

Marie, after realizing that he wasn't taking the piss when she'd incredulously looked up at him, had laughed, not so politely informing him that that would be a _no_, the masochistic freak, and if he thought she'd stoop so low as make him suffer like that, on a regular basis, '_as much as she liked'_, then he could think again.

_Idiot. _

To which she'd settled back down again, the headache that thumped away behind her eyes growing slightly worse when she immediately felt Logan tense beneath her.

Her heart had sunk.

For Logan, unfortunately, had failed to see anything remotely funny about his sincere suggestion that had come from an awful lot of thought or her equally dismissive reply.

Needless to say, the argument had escalated from there, the completely alien sound of their rapidly rising voices as they'd torn a strip off the other deterring any passerby from entering the room. With his heartfelt offer thrown right back in his face, in such a flippant manner, a defensive Logan had clearly not taken kindly to her rejection, whereas Marie couldn't believe that he'd think her capable of using someone, least of all _him_, in such a selfish way.

Surely to God, after almost _five_ _years_, he knew her better than that?

Plus, if he didn't shut the hell up, she'd been pretty sure that she was going to hurl in his face anytime soon.

They'd calmed down eventually, the atmosphere unusually strained as they'd both furiously attempted to focus on the TV again. With Marie cranky thanks to her hang over and Logan his usual temperamental self, they'd been able to stand that little game for only a few overwrought minutes before the inevitable had happened.

Sullenly untangling himself from Marie shortly after, Logan had walked out without a word or backwards glance.

They'd never argued before, not like this, and neither of them had seen each other or spoken since. Stubbornness was a trait inherent in both of them, and it was becoming more and more apparent to the other residents of the mansion just how ridiculously obstinate the two best friends could be.

It was only a matter of time before something had to give.

And right now, Marie didn't want to think about it, least of all while she should be concentrating solely on her skin. Her anger only continued to build when she found that, actually, she couldn't give a shit about anything else at the moment, her possibly permanent inability to physically connect with another human being for more than thirty seconds be damned.

Because it had been almost ten hours since their argument that morning, and she hadn't seen Logan all day.

Not at lunch, not in the garage, not in her room, not in his room… _nowhere_.

Even the Logan in her head had been unusually quiet.

And yet here he was, the cranky bastard occupying every one of her damn thoughts, her hangover still throwing in the odd little wave of nausea whilst she wallowed in the usual knowledge that she was forever destined to remain untouched by another living soul.

Stupid man.

Stupid mutation.

Stupid everything, really.

And now she could feel herself beginning to cry, angry as she was.

'_Damnit!'_

The Professor had to suppress a knowing smile for her Wolverine-typical outburst. Everything from the growled curse to the tensing of her fists as she flung herself up and took to prowling the confines of his office were emulating the frustration of the impatient feral that resided within her head, the white stripe of hair that framed her face serving as a startling reminder of the fact that Logan was just one of the many dominant personalities that bickered incessantly within.

Although, from what he could see, most of Marie's frustration had nothing to do with the voices that lorded it in her head.

Commenced around six months after Marie and Logan had arrived together at his school, Charles had witnessed in the four and a half years since a huge jump in the level of control she could exercise over her deadly skin, a lot of which he suspected was to do with the fact that she was no longer a naïve sixteen year old stowaway, but a mature, confident twenty-one year old woman who's residence at the mansion, and one particular friendship amongst others, had been the making of her.

She just wasn't _quite_ confident enough, it seemed.

Or focused.

And he knew quite well the Logan-shaped reason for that.

Charles waited until Marie came to her usual resting place, stood despondently at the huge bay window that overlooked the darkened lawns outside.

He didn't need to see her face to know that she was now on the brink of tears, her frustration having obviously exhausted the Wolverine's fierce influence to let her simply become that hopelessly lost, young woman once again, overwhelmed primarily with the ever pressing knowledge that she would more than likely never so much as hold the hand of another person without ultimately killing them.

The resulting disagreement that had occurred between her and Logan had just been the cherry on top of one hell of a life problem.

The Professor gave her a much-needed moment of composing silence before he asked his usual question, soft voice as calm as ever.

''May I ask what happened?'

Marie's quiet laugh was uncharacteristically bitter.

'The usual. I switched it off for about thirty seconds. I couldn't stop it for any longer than that.'

She couldn't bring herself to mention the possible reason for her less than full concentration, despite the funny feeling that the Professor had not been asking her about her skin this time.

Charles' heart went out to her, her despair at still not having mastered the art of being able to control when her skin was active or not, coupled with her associated 'Logan' problem, washing over him in heavy, disappointed waves. This was the usual pattern of their sessions, always ending with him hoping she'd somehow recover her optimism and continue to visit him despite not having made any progress past the thirty-second mark for over a year now.

'Your determination and effort are truly admirable, Rogue,' he admitted, moving slowly forwards in his wheelchair to rest at the window with her, quietly contemplating the wisdom of what he was about to propose as he focused upon the dark shadows of the distant trees.

'But I wonder – and please don't take offense when I say this – I wonder if it is perhaps a motivation issue that prevents you from progressing any further.'

Rogue's breath caught, the Professor continuing quickly when he expectedly felt her initial resentment for that comment spike immediately.

'That's not to say you're not trying your best. That, my dear, I have no doubt of. But your current motivation lies in you _imagining_ yourself being able to touch others without any adverse effects, and I can't help but think I may have been doing you a disservice by not focusing your reason for doing this on something a little more… tangible.'

'What do you mean?' asked Rogue cautiously, the Professor's contemplative words having jumbled into one another with the distracting possibility of him having a solution for her predicament.

She knew she shouldn't get her hopes up, but at times like these she just couldn't help it.

Charles took a deep breath.

'Your greatest strength has always been your steadfast consideration of others, Rogue. Rather than threatening others with it, or expecting them to deal with it, your mutation manifests in you as a need to shield others from your skin to protect them. Your gloves, for instance, are never far from reach. Your room is private, for the simple reason that you don't want anybody to accidentally come into contact with you during the night. Your greatest friend lies in the one man who can heal himself, the one person here who you could potentially let that shield down with if you wanted to because you know he will never come to any real harm if you touch him accidentally. He's the only one who can protect himself from your mutation if need be.'

'I would never hurt Logan, Professor,' interjected Rogue softly, deep brown eyes filled with regret as she gazed at him, clearly remembering their recent argument and that horrific night that had seen her and Logan's mutations alike almost kill them both, not to mention Liberty Island.

How the hell they'd made it this far in one piece she'd never know.

'I just couldn't. Not on purpose. Not after everything we've been through.'

'Precisely,' agreed Charles, bright eyes imploring her to understand, 'But then, you must see - your greatest strength, in effect, could also be your greatest _weakness_. That's to say, what if your need to protect others is subconsciously willing you to fail in achieving full control of your skin? Because the easiest, most reliable way to ensure no one comes to any harm at your hand is for you to remain covered. You know that better than anyone, Rogue. The human mind will always take the most efficient, reliable way out, regardless of the situation it is faced with. Here… well, if you keep your gloves on, you know they won't get hurt. Take them off, and there will always be that chance that things won't end well, even if you feel you have full control.'

Marie looked crestfallen.

'And you don't think me just imagining being able to touch others without hurting them is a strong enough motivation to overcome that,' she stated quietly, realizing as she spoke those words that the Professor, unbearably, undeniably, was right.

Because, really, how could she expect to gain full control of her skin when a part of her would always be uneasy about touching others? What if she suddenly lost control? What if it just switched itself back on?

Whoever she was touching at the time could end up collapsing at her feet through no fault of their own. No amount of imagining a normal life with physical human contact was ever going to overcome that greater fear.

It was so obvious a barrier that she felt stupid for not having realized it earlier.

Marie was mortified at the hot tears that pricked at the corners of her dark eyes again then, knowing quite well that she'd never be confident enough to believe herself capable of full control, at all times, no precautions needed. And she couldn't, she _couldn't_, spend her whole life stuck like this, trapped in her own body, destined to never know the joys of a bare hand suddenly squeezing hers, a hug so tight as she was crushed to that special someone's chest, no holding back, a loving kiss, stolen when she least expected it…

No man would ever love her when she couldn't physically love him back.

Well… she _could_. In a fashion. And just not for more than thirty seconds.

It was laughable, really.

Marie could never burden a man with this life. She wouldn't do that. Not when she was still like this.

Which left her back at square one, joy of joys.

The Professor didn't have to telepathically read her mind to know what was running so painfully through it, hoping that she wouldn't react the way he fully expected her to when he uttered his next words.

'It was Logan who came up with all that, Rogue. He came to see me this morning. He had an idea that I believe could be the answer to providing you with the true motivation for gaining control over your mutation, one that he informs he has… already enlightened you to, shall we say.'

Well, that had been the fundamental truth of it… Logan hadn't so much 'came to see' Charles as he'd been telepathically summoned, the Professor having been involuntarily bombarded by the ageless mutant's frustrated misery as he'd unleashed in the Danger Room, his rage undoubtedly assaulting the open minds of every telepath in the school with the sheer rawness of it.

Marie almost laughed at the Professor's quaint as ever, edited description of how she'd come to know of Logan's quite frankly ridiculous idea.

He was obviously, as she'd suspected, aware of the argument that had gone down between her and Wolf-face then.

'Logan's an idiot,' sighed Marie wearily, despite her heart jumping at the knowledge that her best friend had obviously analyzed her situation from every angle, and probably had been doing for years now. Why she'd expected anything less, she didn't know. Yet she also knew full well now what the Professor was about to suggest, disappointment spiking in her chest with the knowledge that the Professor didn't actually have any new idea to help her, but instead was simply rehashing Logan's view.

The notion of mindlessly inflicting pain on the man who meant the world to her, on a regular basis, was enough to make her feel queasy all over again. Nothing would change her knee-jerk reaction to the thought of it, no matter how 'justified' Logan, and now the Professor, felt it was.

'Logan just wants to see you happy, Rogue,' explained Charles gently, having gleaned Logan's view this morning in this very office. Never had Logan seemed so vulnerable as to when he'd stormed into the waiting Professor, slamming the door shut behind him and throwing himself into the same chair that Rogue had vacated now only minutes ago, his head in his hands, trembling knuckles still faintly pink from his claws' many recent extractions.

The feral man, uncharacteristically, had given in to the Professor's concerned prompting to eventually explain the argument that had gone down between himself and his best friend and the reason behind it, hazel eyes burning into him, begging him to see, pleading with him to understand that he was _right._

The argument itself may have been fleeting, but Charles could be under no doubt that Logan had committed himself entirely to Marie; his promise to take care of her, uttered so long ago on that train, fuelling the man to continuously strive to make sure she was happy.

And here… well, that meant doing whatever it took to help her overcome her greatest obstacle in gaining full control of her skin.

Because it was startlingly obvious to the Professor that Logan loved Marie more than anything, and had done for such a long time now. He'd give up his immortality, his forever, if it meant being able to hold her hand without the barrier of those damn gloves in between them, the look on her face as he'd imagined being able to do just that generating waves of such intense longing that the Professor had been left with no doubt as to who the Wolverine had long ago deemed his rightful mate.

And, much like Marie was held back physically, Logan's self-loathing and remarkable insecurities about his forgotten past haunted him continually, day and night, his unwillingness to drag the innocent Marie into that clashing horribly with his instinctive need to have her take center stage in his life.

Plus the fact that six deadly, adamantium claws resided in Logan's forearms and had a history of impaling themselves in Marie's chest when he had a nightmare…

And all that was before the unavoidable age difference had even come into play.

But even so, even with the odds stacked against them, Charles Xavier couldn't help but root for these two. Both so lonely in their own way, their very different mutations similarly holding them back, it couldn't be denied that Logan and Marie were just… _right_.

'More than anyone, our friend wants for you a chance to live your life freely, and he's willing to do anything to give you that opportunity,' explained the Professor, quite aware that he was taking matters a little into his own hands here and treading carefully as he did so, 'He's the only one who can offer you this. No one else here has the ability to heal. And I rather think his frustration at sitting idly by, while the woman he cares so deeply about struggles everyday, is perhaps doing more harm than what a moment's contact with your skin each day could ever physically do to him, don't you think?'

Marie looked to him then, holding his gaze for a long moment as she let his typically astute words sink in, dark eyes glistening bewilderedly. She looked so lost that the Professor felt compelled to take her hand in both of his, finally giving voice to a painfully obvious truth that everyone but Rogue and Logan seemed to be well aware of, the nature of which seemed to stand at the center of all this.

'Rogue, please forgive me for being so intrusive, but I know what it is to love another and have them never know. It's such a dreadful waste. Because I can't help but conclude that you love Logan completely and have done for a long time now.'

Marie paled slightly at that seemingly out of the blue observation, the tears that filled her dark eyes spilling over to trickle slowly down her cheeks.

Her heart was hammering, any breath required to truthfully answer that spot on conclusion having helpfully left her body.

She didn't have to say a word for the Professor to know that he was right.

He smiled, reassuringly squeezing her hand.

'So it's fair to assume then that if this was the other way around… if your mutations were switched and Logan wasn't progressing past thirty seconds despite trying so hard… for over a _year_ now…'

Her eyes grew slightly wider, the Professor knowing quite well what her answer would be to the now inevitable question.

'Would you give him that chance to let him practice on you? To let him have a chance to live a normal life?'

Her immediate answer came to mind a long moment before she voiced it.

'Yes,' she whispered reluctantly, pulling her hand from the Professor's so she could forcefully scrub away the tears that marred her cheeks.

She didn't know what the hell she was meant to feel here.

Frustrated that she was having her side of the argument unraveled before her very eyes.

Mortified that the Professor could read her so obviously.

Terrified that Logan knew _everything_ and felt nothing remotely similar for her in return, no matter what the Professor was implying here.

Because why should he? Why should a grown man, a man so… _experienced_ with women, a man so obviously virile, a man who's very nature dictated that he find a suitable mate who can satisfy him in every way… why should he look twice at her, the girl who couldn't touch him for more than thirty seconds, who's never touched _anyone_ for more than thirty seconds, in a manner that was anything other than friendly, anything other than what they'd had for the last five years?

She couldn't give him what he needed, no matter how hard she hoped for it.

It was an obstacle that she knew quite well wouldn't disappear just because she wanted it to.

'Rogue, surely you understand that Logan doesn't make this offer lightly?' pointed out Charles gently, the absolute doubt that he could read in every contour of her face as frustrating as it was saddening, 'That man, more than anyone I know, will fight tooth and nail for what he believes in, any risk to himself the last thing on his mind. But rest assured, he's more than aware of what this means for him. He knows it will probably cause him some pain, he knows it might not work. But he also knows, above all else, that this is your best chance at gaining control. And he can't deny you, or himself, an opportunity such as that. You know he cares for you far too much to allow this opportunity to slip by.'

'You mean he's so stubborn that he won't let this go until I give in to him,' mumbled Marie obstinately, the Professor's words making sense but her fear still niggling far too strongly to let her believe him completely.

'Logan is a man, first and foremost – he was born stubborn,' replied Charles swiftly, sensing the diversion tactics and quite aware of the instrumental position he was in here, 'And by default, therefore, with the inability to say what he means in a manner that isn't perceived as blunt, misconstruing and extraordinarily thoughtless by the majority of the female population, no matter how conversely thoughtful and kindhearted his intentions may be. He may possess a mutation that makes him almost physically infallible, but after that I'm afraid he's as prone as the next man to digging his own grave, no matter what century he was born in.'

Rogue couldn't help but smile weakly at that sweeping, yet oddly accurate insight, the Professor's twinkling gaze hinting that maybe, just maybe, he'd managed to give her the necessary push she needed into accepting Logan's help.

He chuckled, well aware that Logan would hit the roof if he had any idea how transparent he was to the Professor and, indeed, how the Professor had used this to meddle in matters that he probably shouldn't be involved with.

Not that that was going to stop him.

'Logan, for all his brooding, is very easy to read,' continued Charles with a conspiratorial smile, knowing quite well he was unraveling the secrets of the Wolverine right before Rogue's eyes and thoroughly enjoying it, 'He works primarily on instinct. And as far as you're concerned, he's been marking his territory from day one. So if you're going to take one thing away from our session tonight Rogue, let it be this: stop doubting your own self worth and begin to view Logan's offer for what it is – a small sacrifice on his behalf, yes, but one that could change everything for you if it works. It could change everything for _both_ of you.'

He left it there, giving her a moment to envision a future that had everything she just couldn't fathom ever having now, a future where she and Logan were happy together, both finally at peace with the hand that life had dealt them.

Because life as a mutant was difficult enough to get through at the best of times, faced with the prejudiced hatred of so many, on every level.

And a love like that of Marie and Logan, a light in a world that was often so horribly dark, was a love that the Professor for one was hopeful for.


End file.
